


The Lights That Never Go Out

by the5throommate



Category: Doctor Sleep - Stephen King, IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King, The Shining - Stephen King
Genre: Gen, Horror, IT ch. 2 follow up, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Metaphysics, Multi, and yes eddie will be there just wait, basically if ur good reading a stephen king book ur good with this, graphic depictions of violence and some intense scenes, inspired by the concept of doctor sleep, not really a shining/dr sleep crossover just in the same universe, oh yeah and stan didnt kill himself in this one he's good, other than that it follows movie canon, pls validate my dumb idea, psychic abilities and bonds, richie is gonna go on a journey of self discovery and get the closure he deserves, technically in the entire stephen king universe so, this is very very slow burn, turtle magic, will add specific warnings to specific chapters when needed tho, yes there will be smut dont worry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-30
Updated: 2020-04-16
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:48:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22028092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the5throommate/pseuds/the5throommate
Summary: ANNOUNCEMENT:this fic has been reworked and is now posting under its new name Into Dead Lightthis version will no longer be updating but the story will continue
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Richie Tozier/Original Male Character(s)
Comments: 30
Kudos: 27





	1. Chapter 1: Preludes

**Author's Note:**

> HELLO and welcome to my fic where I turn IT into the queer horror I've always wanted and un-bury the fuck outta those gays. 
> 
> Basically this was inspired by Doctor Sleep, the sequel to The Shining. You don't need to have read or seen the two or have read the IT novel or seen the 90s miniseries-there will be references to all those things but all you need to know going in to be able to follow the story is IT and IT Ch. 2! 
> 
> If you've never read Stephen King, then you probably don't know about the [ absolutely batshit crazy extended universe ](https://www.bustle.com/p/stephen-kings-books-are-all-connected-to-each-other-its-honestly-terrifying-2947873) (seriously just look at [ this chart ](https://i0.wp.com/bloody-disgusting.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/04/king-flowchart.jpg)) that his work exists in, and if you don't want to fall into the rabbit hole I did in high school than just know that the Shining ability and the Deadlights are connected through some crazy metaphysical shit. 
> 
> Without rambling on too much longer, this will be the ending that Richie deserved, that Eddie deserved, and that all us queer kids deserve as well, just with some cool inter-dimensional horrors and a chill turtle god who actually helps this time around. 
> 
> Thank you for reading and please enjoy!

1

In the late summer of the year 2016, the small town of Derry, Maine, was hit with a small, violent, and highly localized earthquake, resulting in the complete and utter destruction of one of the town’s longest standing and long-abandoned private homes on a street called Neibolt. Though no one would say it aloud, the townsfolk were relieved. Something about that place had been off, from the moment they broke ground to dig the well and build up the foundation. A dark, unnatural aura hung heavy over the property, occasionally seeping out to infect the town around it, to poison the people like it poisoned the earth on that parcel of land on Neibolt Street. 

Beyond the property line plants wouldn’t grow, birds never sang, and the air itself was still. The only animals to venture onto the land were the ones crawling away to find a dark, dank place to curl up and die, or the ones dragged there already dead in the bloodied teeth of a yellow-eyed predator. 

Things went there to die. 

Plants.

Animals. 

People. 

The destruction of the Neibolt House also seemed to come, to the relief of the town, the destruction of whatever darkness the property had held in its grasp, or, possibly, the darkness that had held the property. This was only amplified by the death of the escaped deranged murderer Henry Bowers who had been found in the town library, skull cracked open by a hatchet that had been on display, most likely having had fallen from its display during the earthquake, burying itself in splintered bone and gray matter as Bowers had seemingly been scrambling unsuccessfully in the confusion for cover under the various tables and chairs. 

Whether a freak accident brought on from trembling ground or an act of divine justice, the townsfolk felt that the lives he had taken had been avenged. They had to take what they could, as, save for Bowers’ own father, the bodies of his victims, multiple children in ‘89 and two more in 2016, were never found, presumed forever lost underneath the ruin of the Neibolt house. The body of Bowers was cremated and disposed of at an undisclosed location. 

Hidden under the layers of small-town gossip and speculation surrounding their newest romp in the true-crime genre were some comparatively more run-of-the-mill rumors of just what went on during the return of the self-proclaimed “Loser’s Club”, a group of childhood friends who returned to their hometown for a nearly three decade reunion. Things had reportedly gotten off to a rocky start, a friend of a waitress at Derry’s only Chinese restaurant telling her hairdresser that their time at the restaurant had ended with the almost complete destruction of their private dining room and one member of the party getting into a loud argument with a ten-year-old. The reunion was brought to an end the day of the earthquake when, according to statements taken by investigators, Edward Kaspbrak left the inn the group was staying at unannounced, never to be seen or heard from again. The older townsfolk who remembered Kaspbrak as a child joked that the earthquake must have frightened him off, that he had gone running scared back to his mother, or, as they later learned, his wife, who might as well have been the same woman. But Myra Kaspbrak never heard from him again either, and two years later in 2018 filed for divorce on grounds of abandonment. 

The people of Derry moved on from the summer of 2016 without much thought. They mourned where they needed to mourn, remembered what the needed to remember and forgot what they wanted to forget. The remaining six of the Loser’s Club left Derry behind once more, this time unable to do nothing but remember. 

  
  


2

  
  


In the same week Myra Kaspbrak’s divorce went through, a book was stolen from an antique store in the college town of Gorey, Maine, not 60 miles north of Derry. The title had caught the young man’s eye instantly;  _ Night’s Truth _ . It wasn’t even that expensive for an antique book, only $30, but he tucked it into the inner pocket of his worn-out bomber jacket nonetheless and nonchalantly made his way out of the store, a cold sweat forming on his brow. 

Upon arriving home, he took the book out with shaking hands, laying it carefully on the dining room table and running his fingers over the letters embossed on the worn leather cover. He felt a shiver of hope run through him, a giddy excitement like he was back in grade school with a field trip to go on in the morning. He thumbed through the yellowed pages carefully until he found what he had been looking for. He scribbled his partner a quick note, sticking it to their fridge with a novelty magnet his grandma had brought them from a trip to Florida, collected the book and required supplies, and left his home as quickly as he came. 

Julian Hoffman was formally reported missing early the following morning, the last official sighting of him taking place at approximately 12:00 a.m. by his partner, Sidney Parker, and local police officer Dana Cintron along the edges of the town’s seaside cliffs. Officials in the area agreed that, in all likelihood, he perished on the wet rocks below before being whisked out to sea by violent currents, but since no body was ever found, he was declared, much like Eddie Kaspbrak of Derry, a missing person. 

Sidney Parker had never felt so alone. 

Unbeknownst to them, they were not. 

But that didn’t stop the nightmares. Almost every night from the moment Julian had vanished, there were new visions, new terrors. They would wake up frantic, sick, covered in a cold sweat as their consciousness tried to process the images that flashed in their head, flashed and pulsated and blinded them like those damn lights from that night. 

In the lights they had seen...everything. The future and the past, a present that wasn’t their own. Distant planets, far away stars, sounds and melodies that might have been words, might have been music, in some world parallel to theirs. Caught in the light, Julian’s hand had slipped from their own as new galaxies were born in their head and as blood began to dribble from their nose. 

_ Do you see how I can not be killed? _ The lights had whispered.  _ Do you see what I am capable of? What I have already done? What I am gOING TO DO? _

The voice grew louder, deeper. Had Sidney been deaf they could have felt the words as they were shook into their bones, into every cell of their body and every inch of their psyche. The last words that it had spoken, whatever it had been, rattled throughout their skull for an eternity and for a second. 

_ I AM THE EATER OF WORLDS _

And Sidney knew it to be true, because when the lights went dark, when the only break in the blackness of the night became the stars and moon, they found that their world was gone. 

  
  


3

  
  


In the years following their return to Derry, the Losers had done their best to adjust back to their normal lives, or, for some of them, adjusting to new lives altogether. Bill and Stan went home to their wives, Mike had packed up his attic apartment with superhuman speed and hauled ass southward. Ben helped Bev hire movers to get her belongings from her (ex) husband’s house as they hopped on a plane to Ben’s, holding hands the entire way. Richie had stood on the Kissing Bridge, crudely carved initials beginning to blur behind tears, before getting into his nice car and returning to his nice apartment to be met by nobody. 

By the time Sidney and Julian had begun the 2017 fall semester at Gorey Community College, Richie Toizer, still in his indefinite hiatus from his stand-up, made the move from L.A. to Chicago in the hopes that a change of scenery might help his life get back on track a little. He lived there for two years on his savings and the occasional royalties check, maybe taking an odd job here or there, doing small opening sets for friends at tiny, out of the way venues and taking a few guest spots for some episodes of miscellaneous podcasts that he couldn’t even remember the names of. And little more than two years in, funds were running low. 

He sat on his bed in his boxers staring at his laptop screen, anxiously picking at the skin of his lips as a blunt roach smoldered in the makeshift ashtray on his bedside table. His cursor was hovering above the ‘reply’ button of the email he was reading. 

“Well?” chirped Beverly’s voice from his phone speaker. “What are you gonna do?” 

Richie picked at the dead skin on his lips as he thought. 

“Uh. I really don’t fucking know. Last time I got a message from an old friend in Maine asking me to come back for a few days it wasn’t exactly that fun, you know?” 

Bev let out a tired laugh. “Hah! God, yeah. But it’s a college buddy asking you to come back and do a set for homecoming, a paid set, not a childhood friend getting the band back together to squash a giant spider from space. Also, you’re gonna get paid.”

Richie only grunted in response, picking harder at his lip. The words on the screen in front of him began to blur. He didn’t know how long he had been staring. 

“Honey,” Beverly said in what Richie called her ‘sweet mom voice’, “I think you should go. It’ll be good for you. This is the perfect opportunity to get your stand-up up and running again, especially if you still want to go all indie like you mentioned a while back. And…”

“And?”

“And! There’s this shoot I’m supposed to be going to up in Quebec around that same time. Once I get the schedule I’m sure I could move stuff around enough to come visit you down there. It’ll be fun! I would love to see where you went to school.” 

“Oh, prepare to be disappointed, Miss Private University.”

“I got a scholarship!” 

“For bragging?”

“Fuck off, Toizer. But really. I think you should email him back.” 

Richie hissed as he succeeded in ripping the dry skin from his lower lip. He licked at the stinging tear, tasting blood. “Yeah,” he muttered. “Yeah, you’re right.” He couldn’t see her but knew she had that smug little grin of hers on her face. What a bitch. He loved her. 

“So?” Beverly asked after a moment of silence. “Are you going back to Gorey?” 

Richie sighed, finding a new place to pick at on his mouth. “Yeah,” he said. “I guess I’m going back to fucking Gorey.”


	2. Chapter 2: Sunday Night in Gorey, Maine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Richie sees an old friend and Sidney gets a headache.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW for this chapter include mentions suicide (nothing too graphic just a passing mention), and scene with barf

1

When Richie Toizer met Aaron Phillips, he was standing at the door of Richie’s dorm room in a new hoodie a size too big with the college’s logo proudly embroidered on the front, fiddling with the pull strings, nervously asking if he had eaten yet because hey, my roommate is home for the weekend and I ordered an extra large pizza and don’t have a fridge, you wanna help me come finish it?

Richie had told him yes, because he had seemed familiar.

And he was even more familiar now as he stood a bit awkwardly by the baggage claim, nervously scrolling through his phone and shuffling over a few steps whenever a traveler with heavy luggage pushed their way past, their time much more important than anyone else’s. He was a man a bit on the shorter side, barely scraping 5’11 by their senior year. His dark hair had gone almost completely gray, the salt-and-pepper look suiting him well. He had also grown a bit of scruff, rugged looking but neat enough to still be okay in an office. Richie watched him for a moment, noticing that even through all the gray, his thick eyebrows and lashes remained dark. Richie decided to compartmentalize that for the moment and unpack it later, maybe in his therapist’s office. 

“Hey! Richie!” 

There was a goofy, childlike grin on his face as he waved both his arms in the air to grab Richie’s attention, jogging over to meet him, nearly tripping over some lady’s rolling suitcase. 

“Fucki-shit! Sorry! Richie! Hey, man! Long time no see!” 

Richie held a hand out to meet Aaron’s, expecting a handshake and receiving a strong hug. 

“Hey Aaron,” Richie said, squeezing him back. “Missed you, dude.”

“Missed you too! I’m jealous you’ve managed to stave of social media but it sucks that I can’t check in, you know? At least not without going through your manager. You got your bags? Parking is only free for a half hour.” 

Richie picked up his luggage and followed Aaron out through the evening airport crowd out into the parking lot. The cold of the nights hit him as soon as the the automatic doors slid open, stinging his eyes and nose, sending a sharp shiver through the rest of his body. “Jesus fuck!”

“Dude, you literally just came in from Chicago!” Aaron laughed. 

“Yeah, where it was like, in the high fifties!” Richie reliped, scrambling to zip up his jacket. 

“Guess this Maine cold hits different, huh? When’s the last time you’ve been back here, anyways?”

_ A warm summer afternoon down in a rocky quarry, the water the perfect temperature for a cool, refreshing swim. He had been the first to jump in, watching from his seat on a rock in the water as the others fell and then bobbed to the surface. Beverly and then Stan. Ben and then Mike. Stan and then…Richie took his glasses off, not wanting to see the world any more, and began to wipe blood that wasn’t his off of the lenses. _

“About three years now. It was in the summer, though.” 

“Oh, fun! Family?” Aaron asked, unlocking his car. 

“Friends.” Richie said.

  
  


2

  
  


The accommodations provided by the school turned out to be an old apartment building directly across the street from campus that was in the process of being converted into a second set of dorms for the school. 

“That one building, Epping? The dorms we were in just aren’t cutting it anymore.” Aaron said, leading him down an empty hall with orange and brown geometric carpeting. “Last I heard the most crowded room had six kids in it at once, can you believe that? Can you imagine the fucking smell?” 

Aaron stopped at the room at the very end of the hall the door freshly painted, the metal numbers 117 marking the room were sparkling and spotless. Richie could see himself in them, stretched and elongated. 

“Alrighty. This is where I leave you,” announced Aaron as he gave Richie the key. “This room is an example of the studio dorm option, so you’ll have the place to yourself! I dropped some little hints that you might not be too keen on rooming with the guys running the hospitality management workshop. Heard they actually aren’t that hospitable.”

Richie took the keys, his fingers barely brushing up against Aaron’s. “Listen,” he said, lump already forming in his throat, “I can’t thank you enough for getting me this set, man. I really needed this. And it means a lot that you thought of me, especially after...um. Anyways. Thank you.” 

“No problem, Rich. You’ve always been a good friend, even after not seeing you for a while. I missed you, man. Uh. Listen. I’ll be working tomorrow during that campus tour they’re taking all the speakers on-”

“I’m considered a speaker?”

“Yeah! Cool, right? Anyway, I’ll be working all day, but I was thinking we could meet up later? Grab dinner, or something?” 

Richie told him yes, because he seemed familiar.

3

  
  


Sidney Parker woke up near midnight, the face of a man they had never met crystal clear in their mind. He had been bruised, bloody, covered with filth and grime. They were looking up at him through the eyes of someone else, but had the feeling that they got in their stomach when they looked at Julian: warm. Safe. The feeling of his fingers entwined with their own, squeezing them tightly, reassuringly.

And the man’s chest exploded. 

Sidney stumbled out of bed, making their way to the bathroom with their eyes scrunched closed, their head throbbing. Running on autopilot they crouched almost obediently over the toilet and began to vomit. 

That part was over quick; they hadn’t had much to eat that day. They spit one final time into the porcelain bowl and flushed, and then turned and turned on the shower, not even bothering to touch the cold water tap. Their dog, Frankie, sleepily lumbered in after them, curling up on their discarded t-shirt and boxers on the floor to wait for her master to get out of the shower and return to bed. 

The scorching water on their skin came as great relief, muscles finally beginning to relax, the pickaxe digging into their temple and eye socket beginning to dull. They sat in the shower, kneeled, with their forehead to the ground as if in prayer, until their skin couldn’t even register the heat anymore, their skin boiled bright red, their fingers pruned. Sidney then took a moment to stand there on the bath mat before even reaching for a towel, stretching their neck from side to side, straightening their back, cracking their knuckles.

Sidney wasn’t really sure what to call this apparent ability they had possessed for the last year. They had seen movies, read books. None of them that they could recall showed psychic powers like they had. The movies and books had structure, the characters and powers adhering strictly to the laws of that universe. Whatever this was had no structure, followed no rules, at least none that they had seen so far. But it was almost like finally hearing a radio signal coming in clear after hours of static and broken words, or putting on glasses and realizing that, huh, maybe you  _ are _ a bit far-sighted, because you never realized it was possible to see clouds that clear. 

And other people had it as well, they learned. Places, too. A kid they passed in the grocery store, a few of their classmates. A small dock on a small lake near campus where a young man had put a gun to his head and pulled the trigger. Everyone was able to see the dark stain that was left in the wood of the dock; Sidney assumed they were one of the few that could see him still sitting there, cross-legged, neck craned up to the stars. He looked almost at peace. Sidney hoped he was happy there. 

They patted themselves dry with a fresh towel and brushed the taste of bile from their teeth, spat into the sink and took a look at the mirror. It was fogged, their reflection showing only vaguely as a fuzzy, featureless figure. The ideal human form, Sidney thought. Soft, fuzzy man. 

Frankie stood on all fours, staring patiently at the door. Sidney turned the handle and Frankie took off down the hall, audibly jumping back into the bed with one of her favorite squeaky toys. Sidney hoped dogs didn’t get migraines. They didn’t deserve them. Before joining their beloved pet, they took one last look at the soft fuzzy man in the mirror and, for a reason they didn’t even bother to think about, traced a few letters into the thick condensation on the glass. They paused for a moment, blankly staring, not fully comprehending what they had just done or why they had done it before returning to bed, falling asleep on top of the covers. 

  
  


4

  
  


Richie Toizer woke up from a dream about being at the edge of a dark cliff needing to take a piss. Groping around for his glasses he wondered which came first: the need to pee or the sounds of the waves crashing on the rocks hundreds of feet below where he stood. He got to the doorway of the apartment’s small bathroom and stopped. 

There was something in there. Something Shining. 

He took a moment, closed his eyes and took a deep breath, counting to ten like Mike’s family friend had taught him and Bev. Sure he was used to it after three years, but a dark, unfamiliar bathroom in the middle of the night was the last place he wanted to be even slightly startled. He opened his eyes and reached into the darkness to flip the light switch. 

There was nothing. 

Richie sighed, relieved. “Thank God for Hallorann,” he muttered. 

He did what he needed to do in the bathroom, rinsed his hands and flipped off the light to return to bed. Halfway back he stopped. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end, prickling like someone had just breathed a soft whisper into his ear: there was something in the bathroom. Something Shining. 

Richie tentatively stuck his arm back into the rectangle-shaped void in the wall, flipping the light switch once more and stepped inside. The toilet was the same. The shower was the same. The sink was the same. The dirty towel he left on the floor was the same. He glanced at his reflection in the mirror before leaving for good, but stopped. It was fogged, his reflection showing only vaguely as a fuzzy, featureless figure. The only evidence of Richie’s real reflection was in the letters drawn out in the still dripping condensation: 

_ LOSER _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big thanks to Kirby for the endless hype!!!  
> Kudos is great, comments I will smile about non-stop for a week.
> 
> [song for this chapter](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=US4xCFUuHuQ)


	3. Chapter 3: Epistaxis in the Deli

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Richie and Aaron go out to dinner and Sidney orders some sandwiches.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic was originally intended to update once a week, but writer's block is a bitch so ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ (the draft doc for this chapter is 26 pages long HA)
> 
> CW in this chapter for blood/nose bleeds
> 
> BIG THANKS TO KIRBY AS ALWAYS ILY

1

  
  


The message left in Richie’s mirror was gone by morning. It wasn’t as though he had been expecting it to stay, but he had been hoping to snap a picture of it to send to Bev, just to spice things up between the huge blocks of text he usually ended up dumping on her after even the slightest brush with the shine. Ben once said she read through them over breakfast like it was the morning news. She must have been having an early morning, because she texted back almost right away. 

BEV

-Why would I call you a loser through a mirror when I’ll be able to do it to your face this weekend?

-so it wasn’t you?

-No...why did you think that?

-idk it felt like you

-the kind of “shine” it had on it u know

-the one mike’s friend told us about

-Well first things first you can just call him Dick, it’s his fucking name. Secondly DICK said that we can manifest things ourselves, so you literally looked in the mirror and called yourself a loser.

-i dont care if it’s his name it feels rude

-and it didn’t feel like me it felt like you...it was more kind if that makes sense 

-I feel like that’s lowkey sexist but that’s not our topic. 

-I have a conference call to get on soon but you have nothing to worry about. Even if it wasn’t you or even me, you said whatever it was was nice!

-SO WERE THE GREMLINS BEFORE THEY GOT WET

  
  
  
  
  


His bad jokes aside, she was right. He knew what dangerous things felt like, what evil things felt like. This thing, like he said felt nice. Familiar. The way Beverly felt, the way his own insides felt when he meditated like Dick taught him to. 

It hadn’t been a warning; it had been a welcome. 

  
  
  


2

  
  


Richie felt like he had slipped backwards in time. There he was, in his college town with his college best friend in one of their favorite college hangouts, which apparently hadn’t changed its menu in about two decades. Were it not for the tablet that had replaced the old cash register and the throng of college kids sucking on vape pens outside, the place was exactly the same. 

“So,” Aaron said through a mouthful of ruben. “Just what has Mr. Showbiz been up to all this time? You’re on no social media at all, I’m jealous actually.” 

“It’s all an act, man,” Richie replied, huffing a laugh. “The short of it is that essentially for the past ten years at least I’ve just been stuck in all sorta shitty sell-out contracts where they just fucking owned everything, you know? I got so caught up in partying and the fact that I was making money that I just did whatever they said and before I knew it I was just some perpetually hungover muppet memorizing a bunch of cheap, shitty bits.” 

Aaron snorted, wiping some sauce from the corners of his mouth. “Sorry,” he said, “sorry, man, don’t mean to laugh but the hungover muppet got me.”

“Dude, I’m a comedian, people laughing at me means I’m doing a good job.” 

“Okay but, other than the job and career stuff. How’ve you been? You, uh, seeing anyone or anything like that?” 

If there was ever a worse question to be asked, Richie had yet to be asked it. And to have Aaron be the one waiting for the answer made it infinitely worse. 

_What’ll ya tell him, Rich?_ Said the voice in his head in a mocking tone. _You gonna tell him the truth? That the last person you really saw was him, all those years ago, humping like a couple of stray dogs on a shitty, plastic covered twin mattress? That since then the closet you’ve gotten with someone you love ended with having to clean his blood from your glasses and skin? Are you gonna disappoint him, let him know once a coward always a coward, too scared to even look up thirty second videos of men with their cocks in their hands without opening a private tab in your browser?_

“Uh,” Richie began, fingers beginning to anxiously shred a paper napkin on the table, “uh, no. Not really.”

“Really?” Aaron said, seeming surprised. “You mentioned a girlfriend in at least one of your TV spots. You guys break up, or-?”

“Never existed. That was Muppet Richie talking, remember?”

“Were they trying to...hide the truth? Or did they not know.” 

If it had been anyone other than Aaron he probably would have gotten pissed, stormed out of the place as inconspicuously as he could to go find somewhere to hide away and get sick. But it was Aaron. There wasn’t any malice in his words, he wasn’t going to call him an idiot or make a joke, no matter how much Richie probably deserved it. 

Richie still hesitated. A force of habit. 

“They didn’t know. I don’t think they really cared about me enough to ask, or even notice. I’m-it’s, it’s still...complicated,” he said with a sour laugh. “You’ll hate me for this, especially since we talked about this like twenty fucking years ago, but-” 

He had to pause for a moment, blinking fast. He was not about to start crying in the middle of a damn deli surrounded by a bunch of goofy twenty-somethings whose personal lives were in no doubt much more put together than his was. 

“I’ve still never really…” he made some meaningless hand motions to take the place of words he couldn’t bring himself to say. “I got...close? I mentioned visiting some old friends a few years ago...they know. I mean, I think they do. I’ve just never said it. Out loud.” 

Richie tore his eyes away from the napkin he was tearing to force himself to meet Aaron’s gaze, for at least a few seconds, even if he dreaded seeing the look of disappointment on his face that was sure to be there. 

“You’re disappointed in me.” Richie pointed out. 

“No,” Aaron said gently. “Absolutely not. The only thing I’m disappointed at is that you’re still stuck in a place where you feel the need to hide yourself away. Which isn’t your fault, by the way.”

“Now you sound too much like my therapist.”

“Hey, you told your therapist? That’s good! That’s progress, buddy!” Aaron clapped his hand down on top of Richie’s, giving it a tight squeeze. “I’m proud of you!” 

Richie could feel his face grow hot, and he squeezed Aaron’s hand back. “Thanks, man.” 

They went back to their dinners, hands no longer touching but legs tangled together under the table.Richie told Aaron some of his best L.A. stories, which mostly involved making fun of startup douchebags and anyone in AirPods holding some overpriced cold-pressed juice, and Aaron filled Richie in on recent campus drama (lots of arguing about what to name the new dorms, it seemed; they had even opened the door for student suggestions, but the kids didn’t seem to take it that seriously). 

“I mean, come on, _Dormy McDormface_ doesn’t even make any fucking sense!” Aaron said. “At least _Casa del House_ was fucking origional.” 

After nearly two hours of catching up, meals long finished, Aaron and Richie decided to stop hogging the table, giving it up to a couple of students who carried their dinners and textbooks in tow. One of them gave a friendly wave, the other just nodding their head, their hands full. 

“Those two are a nice couple, I know one of them from some community theatre stuff,” explained Aaron. He cracked his back, leaning up against the railing on the deli’s front patio, sighing. “God, I don’t want to go to fucking work tomorrow.” he groaned. 

“That’s your own fault, bud,” said Richie. “Shoulda gone the Toizer route. Dropping all your shit during a prolonged manic episode and moving to L.A. with no fucking warning at all, succeeding only through pure dumb luck and the privelage of the white man.” 

Aaron laughed, loud enough to get some glances from other patrons of the restaurant. “You’re gonna do great at the show, man. The kids’ll love it, I swear.”

Richie had almost forgotten that he had technically come here to work. “How do you know that?” he asked. 

“Well,” Aaron replied, “practically anything is better than what happened last year.”

“Last year?”

“Yeah, we had another standup guy, like barely 30, doing a set for homecoming and of course he shows up coked out of his fucking mind, raving like a lunatic. Didn’t even make it fifteen minutes into the show before he jumped off the stage and started fighting with some of the audience.” 

“No shit!” 

“Yeah! The videos are still online, I’m sure.” 

They stood on the patio for a few silent moments, watching as the last few rays of sun slipped below the horizon. 

“Speaking of leaving with no fucking warning,” Richie said nervously, breaking the silence, “I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry, Aaron, I really just completly abandoned you and I am so sorry.” He cast his eyes downwards, not wanting to see Aaron’s face, ashamed. 

“Well,” said Aaron, “It’s not like every decision made when you’re twenty is a homerun.” 

Richie felt a hand rest gently on his shoulder, another hand cupping his jaw and chin. Aaron was guiding his face up to meet his own. Even in the dark of the evening he could see Aaron crystal clear; kind, dark eyes, a soft smile, salt-and-pepper colored scruff that matched his hair. “I forgive you, Richie.” he said. 

And Aaron kissed him. 

Richie felt like he had slipped backwards in time. His heart skipped beats, his stomach dropped, his hands began to sweat. Love or fear, it didn’t matter. Over time he had realized they both feel the same. 

He kissed Aaron back. 

His entire body shivered, goosebumps erupting on his skin. He felt it. He felt the shine that had been in his bathroom, in the dream he had about that windy cliffside. _Is it Aaron?_ he wondered, as fingers combed through his hair. _Has it been Aaron this whole time?_

The kiss ended, as they all do, Richie resting his forehead against Aaron’s, just breathing, inscribing every detail of the moment he could into memory. 

“We should have breakfast sometime,” Aaron muttered. “I don’t have to be in til 10 on Wednesday, we could meet up then.” 

“Yeah, that would be-” Richie’s reply caught in his throat upon looking fully at Aaron’s face again. “Blood,” he said instead. Aaron’s upper lip and base of his nose was coated in it, red smeared over his skin, spread by their kiss. He looked up at Richie in his own horror. 

“Shit, Richie, your nose-” 

Richie opened his mouth to say something, but was met only with the taste of warm iron on his tongue. He sputtered, turning away from Aaron and wiping frantically at his face with the sleeve of his jacket, steadying himself against the patio railing, head beginning to spin and knees shaking. He vaguely heard Aaron say he was going to his car to get some wipes and to sit right there, I’ll be right back, don’t worry. He closed his eyes and took deep breaths, still holding his sleeve to his face, opening them again only when he felt Aaron standing over him. 

But the person standing above him wasn’t Aaron. 

They were about Aaron’s height, give or take, Richie couldn’t tell much from his spot on the ground. Their look was...strange. Familiar. Wearing an oversized jacket, thin legs sticking out of the bottom like a pair of popsicle sticks that ended in a pair of those chunky sneakers that seemed to be a trend nowadays, they looked down at Richie the same way a kid would look down at a possum that may or may not be playing dead: curious, hesitant. Afraid. Their left hand held a take-out bag from the deli, their right up at their face, clutching a wadded-up paper napkin. A wadded-up paper napkin spotted with dark blots of blood. 

_Do you see how I can not be killed?_

Behind the stranger then rose a shadow, impossibly large, impossibly familiar. In the cavern below the Neibolt house, It pulled back one of its claws, ready to strike, to kill-

_-and then the man’s chest exploded-_

_-and then his body slipped out of sight over the cliffside-_

-and Richie could only do what he wished he could have done three years ago. He screamed. 

_“RUN!”_

  
  


3

  
  


Sidney buried their hands deep in their jacket pockets and shivered. The deli was only a few blocks from campus, so driving would just be overkill, even in the cold. Sure, it was really only a handful of wealthy assholes and monopolizing corporations responsible for the garbage in the air and the oceans, but they couldn’t help feeling that pang of guilt that came from using unnecessary gasoline. They fiddled with the sticky note in their pocket, feeling the ridges left from the ballpoint pen when they had taken the orders of their classmates who had been on kiln duty for the day. 

The sticky sweet smell of e-cigs was strong enough to taste as they walked through a cloud of vape coming from the group of students loitering on the patio of the deli. Inside was a familiar scene; plenty of students they recognized from campus were there, lining up to get dinner after an evening class, huddling around too-small tables for a study group, textbooks and notepads balanced precariously on laps and in front of plates. Sid recognized a few freshman from the intro ceramics class and gave a little wave. Their professor had been kind enough to offer them a position as studio assistant after they had graduated that spring. They still had no clue how the man managed to remember so many names of so many students, especially after over twenty years of teaching. Sidney could have them all wear name tags and still call the girl with the pink braces Melisa instead of Melinda. They even recognized a guy from administrations eating with a familiar man they didn't quite recognize in the far corner of the restaurant.

“That’ll be $30.27 sweetheart,” the elderly cashier said with a smile. Sid fumbled around in their too-big jacket for their wallet. _Just take it out when you’re standing in line,_ Julian’s voice said. _That’s how I do it, and have you ever seen me fumble?_ “It’ll be out in about 15 minutes.”

They scrolled through apps on their phone to kill the time as they leaned on the counter, trying to stay as out of the way as they could in the over-crowded restaurant. The guy from administrations left with his friend, door bell tinkling to announce their departure. 

“Order 27, Sidney?” 

“Thank you,” they said, helping the cashier load the drinks into the bag. “Oh, shit, wait, my boss gave me his punch card to use, sorry.” _Breast pocket! There you go, smooth like butt-ah!_

Sidney offered the card to the cashier, who looked back at them with a furrowed brow. 

“Sorry, do you not take these any more?” Sid asked, confused, watching the cashier snatch a handful of paper napkins.

“Honey, your nose…”

Right on cue the blood reached Sidney’s lips, the metallic tang intruding into their mouth as the cashier shoved the napkins into their face with motherly concern. “Gosh, this has to be one of the biggest nose bleeds I’ve ever seen! My grandson gets them sometimes…” 

Sidney let the woman, Tina, dab at the blood with the napkin, her soothing manner making them feel like they were standing in a pool of morning sunlight. They didn’t need to listen to what she was saying about her grandson. They could see him. An adorable little boy, picture perfect like a Saturday Evening Post cover from the 50s, Tina’s voice telling him to get your finger outta there, why do you think it keeps bleeding? 

They muttered a thank you through the napkin and picked up the sandwich bag, not bothering to check if the order was correct; it never was. 

“Just keep the napkin on it til it stops, you don’t want a bloody shirt,” Tina said. “And don’t hold your head back! Everyone says to but they’re wrong. It’ll go down your throat and make you sick!” 

The shiver that cut through their body when they stepped out of the deli was from more than just the cold. They felt a nervous flutter in their stomach, three points of light pulsating behind their eyelids with every blink. 

_Do you see what I am capable of?_

In the shadows of the patio sat a figure. The man that Sidney had seen eating with the office worker was crouched down against the railing, holding a sleeve of his jacket to his face. Against better judgement, they crept closer to the man, wanting to get a better look at him. Wanting to get further from the presence that was creeping behind them. 

His eyes were closed, his breathing deep and deliberate. They were alone on a cliffside hundreds of feet above the sea. They were alone in a cavern hundreds of feet under the earth. The man’s eyes snapped open, making direct eye contact as if they had just started a staring contest. 

_Did you see it? Did you see it?_ **_Did you see It?_ **

Whatever was behind them was moving, shuffling around. Laughing. 

_Run. Run. Run._

The man screamed. 

_“RUN!”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Ch. 3 Song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vMMbeaJV4HM)
> 
> You can read my friend Kirby's fics [here!](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jonesyslug/pseuds/jonesyslug)
> 
> And feel free to follow me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/frankenslime)
> 
> (and please consider leaving a comment as i am a ho for the validations of strangers on the internet)


	4. Chapter 4: Richie Takes A Walk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sidney goes back to campus and Richie takes a walk.
> 
> -CW for brief mentions of self harm and suicidal thoughts-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I thank Kirby every single time but THANK U KIRBY

1

  
  
  


Sidney pushed open the door of the bathroom using their entire body, hands still full with a bag of sandwiches and a bloody napkin. The sandwich bag was haphazardly tossed into one of the sinks, the napkin barely making it into the trash can. In the free sink they wet a paper towel, wringing it out and starting the task of scrubbing the red off of their skin. 

Their hands were shaking. Their body was shaking. They thought if they looked at their reflection close enough, their eyes would be shaking. 

When the man had told them to run, they had done just that, nearly knocking over that office guy in the process. They didn’t stop until they reached the bathroom, chest heaving and eyes watering. What the  _ fuck _ had just happened?

They dried their face and hands and felt around in their tiny backpack for their notebook, grabbing the first pen they felt along with it. Sid hoisted themselves up onto the countertop and began frantically transcribing the events of that evening, something that had become habit for them after every strange event, weird sighting, bad dream, or miraculous vision that was forced upon them after what they, at this point for both simplicity and their sanity, had dubbed The Incident of last year. 

_ man at deli same feeling like the thing on cliff nosebleed at counter saw lady’s grandson even tho not there went outside familiar man w/ the feeling there sitting hiding(???) bleeding too could tell bleeding was same visions/feeling of cave + man w/ exploding chest blood blood man saw me screamed to RUN i ran  _

Sid read over what they wrote, pen tapping the page. Their entire notebook was filled with ramblings like this. Ramblings of a mad man. A classmate of theirs grabbed it once during a study session, flipping through the pages with an ever-growing concern until Sidney noticed and managed to snatch it back. They told her it was just a dream journal (technically not an entire lie) and changed the subject back to their impending exam as soon as they could. From that point on she always said farewell to them with an extra softness in her voice and an extra squeeze on the shoulder. She didn’t have time for ceramics this semester, and Sid found themselves missing her much more than expected. 

A dripping faucet brought Sidney back to the present. A present that was constantly getting more and more refracted and distorted like they were looking up at the sky from the bottom of a pool. The faucet dripped at a steady rhythm, something that could have been a calming metronome in the deafening silence were it not for the fact that it almost sounded like their name. 

_ Sid. Sid. Sid. Sid.  _

It echoed in the drain, down the pipes. 

_ Sid. Sid. Sid. Sid.  _

It echoed in their ears, into their head. 

_ SIDNEY.  _

Snatching up their belongings and the sandwich bag, Sidney, again, took off running. 

  
  


2

  
  
  


Richie felt...well, everything. Since the run-in with the stranger at the deli he was hyper-aware, senses heightened to a place he had never experienced. He felt every thread in the bedsheet he lay on, the skin of every inch of his body prickling with even the slightest sensation. He felt like he was floating. He felt like he was being held down onto the bed like it was spinning in a Gravitron. 

` Aaron had understandably been worried, asking multiple times on the ride back to the apartment, are you sure you don’t need to go to the emergency room? Are you sure you’re okay? He asked Richie for an emergency contact he could call if anything worse happened, and Richie went ahead and gave him Bev’s number. Aaron made him promise to text him after his nap to make sure he was still alive as he walked him to his room, and Richie promised. 

Aaron had also reassured him that no one had seen; most of the students too distracted with their work or their food, or just too plain tired, to give a fuck. And under any other circumstance he would be worried about anyone seeing, especially before a performance, the anxiety keeping him awake all night, making his stomach twist in on itself, making knots upon knots. To be fair, the same thing would likely happen tonight as well just, to say the very least, much, much worse. 

It was alive. That much he knew. That much he dreaded. 

He thought about his phone on the nightstand. He could practically hear the electricity buzzing inside of it, buzzing with the potential to send out a mass text with shaking hands to his five friends to tell them, to warn them. To let them know everything that they had done was for nothing. To let them know that Eddie had died for nothing. 

Maybe Richie’s heart was now beating too fast for him to feel it. Maybe it had stopped completely and he was dead, the afterlife turning out to be nothing more than an eternity trapped in a rotting body, still able to see, hear, and smell, unable to move, talk, or blink. He wondered if the dead could feel the fire or smell their own decay under the earth. He wondered if Eddie had been able to hear that they had (thought they had) won, that they (thought) they had killed It. He wondered if he heard them leave him behind. 

In the distance he could hear a train. He remembered his mother warning him to never play on the tracks, telling him in excruciating detail about how, once upon a time, when she was a little girl, a boy from her class had gone berry picking with his mother, wandering off onto the train tracks only to get struck and killed, his decaying corpse found later in the brush, his body thrown from the tracks by the sheer force of the engine that hit him. 

(Had he been able to feel the sun that made its way through the trees? The flies crawling on his skin?) 

_ Okay, I think you’ve gone deep enough,  _ his conscience said in Beverly’s voice.  _ Go for a walk. Clear your head. Get some tea or coffee or something.  _

“Okay,” he said out loud. “Okay, fine.” 

_ The turtle will look out for you. _

Not sure where that thought had come from, but whatever. A walk to clear his head it was, then. He put on his boots, zipped up his jacket and dug around in the pockets for the overpriced beanie he had picked up at the airport. Richie sent a quick text to Aaron, telling him he was feeling just fine, and walked out into the quiet night. It was dark, peaceful. On the dock on the lake across from campus he saw a kid sitting there, neck craned up to the stars. Richie thought he looked happy there. 

  
  


3

  
  


The campus of Gorey Community College bloomed out from one main central building, built originally as a high-end hotel in the early 1900s, which now stood as the student union and library. Over time the campus had begun to ripple outwards, circles inside of circles until it became one of the largest community college campuses in the state of Maine. But the town remained small, as the college seemed to do too well of a job preparing students for their future careers, because most of them hopped a plane as soon as they could after getting their hands on that fancy piece of paper that they had been working the past four years for. 

Richie felt a warm giddiness overcome him as he stepped foot on campus. He remembered his first homecoming week here, when he came to the wondrous realization that, in college, you could get completely shitfaced in a GCC sweatshirt and call it school spirit. It was late out, and a Monday at that (Was it really only Monday? Had he not been trapped here for years?), so there weren’t many students about as there would be on weekends, at least back in his day. He made his way straight to the center of the circle, towards the union/library, planning to walk in a spiral fashion through the entire campus before returning to the apartment building. 

In an almost trance-like state Richie made his way around the campus, stopping only to watch some freshmen attempt to get what looked like a homemade drone off the ground. 

“I swear to fuck, Todd, you better not fly it so high we get fined or some shit.” one of them said. 

“Bold of you to assume this trash is even gonna come close to fifty feet up, let alone four hundered feet.” 

“Shut up and let him fly the damn thing!” 

Richie continued on after the drone took a nose-dive into some shrubs, the entire group screaming swears in unison. 

In the last circle of the campus were clustered all of the arts and humanities classrooms. During orientation they had told him that it was so far away because they wanted to give the arts the best and most up-to-date facilities, but it took barely half a step into one of the buildings to see that that was most likely not the case. Everyone not in the school band said it was to keep the noise from their rehearsals from distracting the other students. Everyone in the school band said it was because theatre kids are fucking obnoxious and art students track charcoal everywhere. Richie had never given a shit, however, because this area of the campus provided students with the most hiding places to sneak off for a cigarette during the day or a blunt during the night. He had quit smoking (cigarettes at least), but he considered this a special occasion. He found a good spot in the small, empty lot behind the old bus garage that had been converted to classrooms a few years before he had enrolled, and lit up. 

He exhaled, craning his neck upwards and watching the plume of smoke escape his nose and mouth. Maybe It was dead. Maybe the kid had also come from Derry, had also had a run-in with the killer clown from outer space. Maybe they had literally just been passing through and ended up in the wrong place at the wrong time, before Mike called them all back, escaping the Deadlights by the skin of their teeth to continue on to Gorey to just go to school and try to live a normal life. Yeah. That was it. That had to be it. 

_ But where are the seaside cliffs in Derry?  _ asked a voice.  _ You saw what they saw. You know where they saw It. You know it wasn’t Derry. You know it wasn’t over two years ago.  _

Richie took a too-big drag of the cigarette and watched the ash crumble away with his shaking hands. 

_ You know where it was. You know the place. It’s here. In Gorey.  _

Richie flicked the rest of the ash from the end of the cigarette. Its end glowed red in darkness, the more he focused on it the more it became the only thing he could see, the only thing that existed. A distant, dying sun. 

_ You’ve been there. King’s Park. The cliffside is gated off for safety but still so easy to get to. It was here, Richie. Stop lying to yourself. Good boys don’t lie.  _

Without thinking, he put the cigarette out on his inner wrist. 

_ Idiot boy. Nothing in your life has never really gone right, what makes you think it would be different after forty years? Your fuck-ups have a body count, Richie.  _

He thought of the cliffside in King’s Park. 

_ Third time’s the charm, Richie.  _

“Fuck you!” Richie chucked the lighter and cigarette package against one of the large metal garage doors, the loud clang ringing through the empty lot. “ _ Fuck _ you.” he muttered. “Fucking clown. Fucking bastard clown.” 

“Where? Where is it?”

Richie just about pissed his pants. Around the corner came a scrawny figure wielding a rusty tire iron, obviously ready to start swinging. 

“Where’d it go?” 

Richie just stood there for a moment, taken completely off guard. They looked familiar. They felt familiar. 

“Seriously, dude. If you saw the clown we gotta call campus security, it’s been creeping around town for like two months now.” 

“You were at the deli,” Richie said matter-of-factly. 

“Uh huh,” said the kid, scanning the empty lot, taking a moment to actually process what he had said. “Wait. Wait. Were you the guy with the…” the motioned to their nose. “...on the patio?” 

“Yeah. And you were…”

They nodded, looking deep in thought. “You...have the brain thing. Like me. You’ve seen...whatever that was.” 

Richie couldn’t tell for sure but it looked as though the kid’s eyes were beginning to tear up. The two stood there awkwardly, not knowing what to say next. Richie buried his fists as deep as he could into his jacket pockets. The stranger scratched the back of their neck, tapping the tire iron against their calf. “My name is Sidney,” they said, holding their free hand out to Richie. “And you’re...Eddie. Right?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *bernie sanders voice* i am once again asking you for feedback on my fic 
> 
> [the song for this chapter](<a)
> 
> as always thank u so much for reading and if you've been enjoying this please consider leaving some feedback!!! also feel free to follow me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/frankenslime)


	5. Gorey Community College Campus Map

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> notable places on the GCC campus


	6. ,

please see fic summary

**Author's Note:**

> For those who are new here, for all my fics I post a song that fits the chapter in the end notes, so take a listen to this chapter's song [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=twnOvCzLU6M)!
> 
> AND BIGGEST SHOUT OUT TO MY DEAR FRIEND KIRBY WHO SUPPORTS AND MOTIVATES ME SO MUCH!!!! THEY HAVE A HANDFUL OF WONDERFUL IT FICS U CAN READ [HERE](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jonesyslug/pseuds/jonesyslug/works?fandom_id=134900)! 
> 
> Feedback and comments mean the world for me, please consider leaving one if you enjoyed my work or have any helpful critique to offer :) See u next time!


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